


Battle Scars

by RipUpTheEnding



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Frottage, Grace Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Self-Hatred, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-20 00:12:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5985820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RipUpTheEnding/pseuds/RipUpTheEnding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is restless.</p><p>Dean’s been watching him in the rear view mirror for the last two hundred miles. Watched him shift and twist. Shake his leg. Drum his fingers on his knee so forcefully that even Sam is starting to notice. Cas has been like this for the past week, even since he got his grace back, and at first Dean assumed that was all it was. The energy running through his body again, his own energy. Cas hasn’t been at full power for longer than Dean cares to remember so having it again has got to be a shock to the system… especially after his recent stint with humanity. But that’s all it is, Dean tells himself. It has to be. Cas will get past it and be himself again before long. He always does.</p><p>Except for this time. Not even close.</p><p>With each day and each mile that passes, Cas gets worse. More restless and irritable. More frustrated. He’s going to vibrate out of the damn car if something doesn’t change, and soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle Scars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LoversAntiquities](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/gifts).



> Some birthday wing kink fic! :)

Cas is restless.

Dean’s been watching him in the rear view mirror for the last two hundred miles. Watched him shift and twist. Shake his leg. Drum his fingers on his knee so forcefully that even Sam is starting to notice. Cas has been like this for the past week, even since he got his grace back, and at first Dean assumed that was all it was. The energy running through his body again, his _own_ energy. Cas hasn’t been at full power for longer than Dean cares to remember so having it again has got to be a shock to the system… especially after his recent stint with humanity. But that’s all it is, Dean tells himself. It has to be. Cas will get past it and be himself again before long. He always does.

Except for this time. Not even close.

With each day and each mile that passes, Cas gets worse. More restless and irritable. More frustrated. He’s going to vibrate out of the damn car if something doesn’t change, and soon.

“Cas, man. You okay, back there?”

“Yes, Dean. I’m fine.”

“You sure about that? ‘Cause I can—”

“I’m fine, Dean. Really,” Cas say, voice a little tight, body stiff as a fucking board, before he goes right back to staring out the window; fingers drumming on his knee like he’s mining for bone marrow or some shit.

The good old Winchester school of thought: dealing with shit by not dealing with it. They taught Cas well, and that makes Dean cringe.

He doesn’t like seeing Cas like this. It’s upsetting and unsettling, to say the least. Cas has been his rock more times than Dean will ever admit, and when Cas isn’t at his best, neither is Dean. He doesn’t quite understand it, never has, (that’s the party line, anyway) but as far back as Dean can remember they’ve been like this. Maybe it’s the brotherhood of battle, or watching each other die one too many times. Maybe it’s the life on the road and the isolation that comes with it. How you grab on to anyone who understands and hold on for dear life. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s family now and that with that, comes Dean’s loyalty. Dean’s drive, his fucking _need,_ to help and protect the ones he cares for. How it’s in his DNA and it’s something he wouldn’t change even if he could. But Dean’s shared all of these same things with others: Sam, Bobby, Charlie, even his Dad, just to name a few, and none of them have affected him the way Cas does. The way Cas gets under his skin. The way Cas’s pain and suffering and weakness bring him to his knees and just fucking gut him.

Because the thing is, something about Cas is different. It goes beyond the normal ties of family. It makes Dean think and feel and do things he never thought he would, things he _swore_ he never would. Makes him feel connected to Cas in ways he’s never connected with anyone else.

So, maybe it’s that… _bond._ That thing the two of them apparently share. The thing that Dean tries not to think about unless he has to because he can’t put it into words. He only understands it in terms of feelings, sensations. And those feelings and sensations scare the shit out of him. He’s felt something like it once before with Cassie. Maybe anyway. Back before Azazel and hell and Heaven and the apocalypse. Before purgatory and the trials and the angels falling. Before the Mark. Before he was a fucking Knight of Hell. Just… _before._ Because that’s the thing. After all of this, after everything he’s been though and everyone he’s been through it with, _before_ is just a glimmer. A watered down version of life and feelings. Before all of this Dean didn’t know what it meant to feel. How deeply he could care and how much things could hurt. What it meant to lose something, to lose _someone,_ and how you lose a part of yourself every time.

Even still, with only a watered down version to compare it to, Dean knows what this feeling is. Deep down inside, in the dark hidden corners of him mind, where he does his very best to never visit, he can’t deny what this feeling is. What it all means. Why Cas is different.

But even in those moments of weakness when Dean acknowledges the feeling, recognizes it for what it truly is. Allows himself a moment to bask in it, in all it’s glory, Dean isn’t scared. Not of the feeling itself anyway. What scares Dean the most, what makes him want to run and hide and never look back, is that like everything else that’s come _after,_ this feeling is _bigger._ This feeling is… _more._

It only takes another mile of his internal freak out and Cas’s restless brooding and Sam’s not so subtle bitch faces before Dean can’t take it anymore.

“Okay, that’s fucking it. We’re crashing for the night.”

Dean doesn’t wait for a response, doesn’t even care if anyone has one. He’s tired and irritated and concerned. And he needs to get them all out of the car before he does something he regrets. He gets off at the next exit and pulls the Impala into the first motel with a Vacancy sign. Gets two rooms even though Cas, once again, doesn’t sleep. Because the way things are going, the way Dean’s mind is running out of control right now, being in the same room as Cas for the night is a bad fucking idea. As much as he wants to figure out what’s going on with Cas, try to help him, it’ll have to wait for another time. Morning maybe. Or tomorrow night. Or next week. Sometime when Dean isn’t feeling like a useless coward who’s going to ruin the best thing in his life right now by thinking with the wrong head.

And whooaaaa there. This is exactly why he needs to put Cas in another room. Put some distance between them. Some walls. A door that fucking locks. Because shit like this is what’s gonna get him in trouble and he’s got enough to deal with already.

Dean throws his duffel on his bed, the one closest to the door as usual, and toes off his boots. In the bathroom he washes the grit of the road from his face, splashes his hair and slicks it back. The cool water wakes him up a little but does absolutely nothing for the his half-hard cock. If anything it perks up more now that he’s not as tired. Stupidly he palms at it through the front of his jeans, hissing at the contact. He’s way more sensitive that he thought and yep. Still getting harder. Fan-fucking-tastic. For a second he considers just giving in but he knows Sam will hear him in the other room, and while he usually doesn’t give a fuck, Dean’s not sure he can keep himself from shouting Cas’s name when he comes. And that. Well… Dean’s not even close to having that talk with his brother. Besides, he’s not going to give himself the satisfaction. If he can’t man up and deal with his feelings then he doesn’t deserve to get off to them. And there’s also the whole thing with whatever’s bothering Cas. Dean might be a lot of things but he’s not that much of a bastard to get off to his friend when he should be talking to him. When he should be helping Cas work through whatever it is that has him so on edge lately. And since Dean’s not up for that conversation anymore than one with Sam, he’s just going to have to deal with his sexual frustration for the night. Fucking ignore it. Make his erection go away through sheer force of will. It won’t be the first time. In this, Dean is just as much of a master at denial as he is with his feelings.

When Dean exits the bathroom, towel patting his damn hair, Sam is standing in the room’s doorway, his bag still on his shoulder.

“Going somewhere, Sammy?”

“Actually…”

Sam trails off and Dean stops dead in his tracks, because he knows that tone in his voice. It’s the tone Sam uses when he wants to talk, or more specifically, when he wants _Dean_ to talk.

Dean chucks the towel over his shoulder in the vague direction of the bathroom, plops down on his bed, back to Sam, and runs his hands down his face. “Whatever you’re thinking, Sam… it’s not happening.”

Sam ignores the comment. “Somethings wrong with Cas.”

“You think?” Dean huffs as he shrugs of his flannel.

This time Sam takes a moment before he responds. “Don’t you think that maybe you should… you know?”

“Maybe I should what, Sam?” Dean looks over his shoulder, giving his brother his best death glare.

“Talk to him.”

“Yeah. I know what you meant.”

“Then—”

“Then why don’t _you_ do it?” Dean snaps. And this time when he looks at Sam the bitch face is gone, replaced by those damn puppy dog eyes that get Dean every time. “ _Goddammit, Sammy!_ ”

“What? And don’t give me that whole chick flick bullshit. You know as well as I do that when it comes to Cas you’re better at…” Sam pauses and shrugs. “You’re just better.”

Dean flops backwards on his bed and covers his eyes with his hands, groaning. “Goddammit, Sammy!” he says again. “Can’t I just—can I at least get some sleep first? I need my four hours, man…”

Sam doesn’t answer and Dean waits, breathing in and out until he’s pretty sure he can look at Sam without trying to kill him with his eyes. But when he finally sits up and turns back around, Sam’s name on his lips, Sam is gone. The motel room door is closed and Cas is standing just inside, head tilted to the side, eyes squinted, staring at Dean.

“God _dammit,_ Sammy!” he says for a third time, because leave it to his brother to know just what buttons to push. To know exactly how to make Dean bend to his will. Of course, Dean won’t turn Cas away now that he’s here. Especially not when he’s looking at Dean that way, part concern and part… something else. Dean signs and gestures Cas over. “You’re here now. Might as well sit down and get comfortable.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas saw with a frown. “Sam said you wanted to talk to me. Was he wrong?”

“Nah. It’s—it’s fine, man. I’m just tired.”

Cas just keeps staring, doesn’t move.

“Well, come on man. Sit down. Don’t want this to take all night.”

Cas nods and makes his way across the room. He stops right before he gets to Dean and slides of his coat like he’s gotten into the habit of doing lately; folds it and hangs it over a chair. But instead of sitting down there at the table right across from Dean, Cas takes two more steps and sits down next to Dean on the bed. It’s only a beat before Cas starts shifting around again, tapping his fingers, his toes, rolling his shoulders. Dean isn’t sure if Cas is aware but every moment brings them closer together until they’re flush, bodies pressed together from shoulder to knee. Cas’s power radiates off of him, powerful and more raw than Dean’s ever felt. It’s almost as if something inside of Cas is reaching for Dean, drawing them closer and closer together in every way possible. Dean shivers and shakes the idea from his head. Down that road is nothing but trouble and right now Dean needs to find out what’s bothering Cas.

“What’s going on with you, buddy?” Dean finally settles on asking.

“Nothing, Dean.”

“You sure about that that?”

“Yes, Dean. I’m sure.”

Dean groans. _“_ Yeah. Not buying it. So, cut the crap. You know I’m not one for all the touchy feely conversations…” Dean pauses to clear his throat because that’s definitely the wrong choice of words right now, “…but you’re driving me crazy, man!”

Cas frowns and actually curls in on himself a little. “I’m sorry, Dean. It was not my intention to upset you with my… discomfort.”

“You’re not—that’s not—” Dean sighs and turns to look at Cas. “That’s not it. Something is obviously up with you, even Sam’s noticed, but I can’t help if I don’t know what it is.”

“It is not of import.”

“Yeah. Not gonna cut it this time. So what is it? Those winged dicks do something again?”

Cas shakes his head.

“Your grace?”

Cas starts to shake his head but then stops himself, chews on his bottom lip in a very human way.

“So, your grace? Something’s up with your grace?”

“Not… not exactly…”

“Well then what is it? You gotta give me something.”

“It is…” Cas bites his bottom lip again, looking at Dean. It’s a harder fight than he’d like to admit to keep from kissing cas, to reign in the desire and let Cas speak. “It’s my wings.”

Dean frowns. “Your wings? What about your wings?”

“I may not have fallen the same way as the other Angels, but my grace is cut off from the source, just as theirs is.”

“You told us that, man. It’s why you can’t fly right? Gotta slum around in cars like the rest of us. But Baby’s not so bad.” Dean flashes a smile at Cas but it immediately fades when he sees the look on Cas’s face. “What is it?”

“Falling, being disconnected from Heaven, didn’t just render my wings useless… it destroyed them.”

Dean’s jaw gapes, his eyes bugging out. “Shit, man. I had no idea… _Why didn_ _’t you tell me?_ ”

“I didn’t want to burden you.”

“Well, it’s a little late for that!”

Cas frowns and starts to pull away from Dean. “I’ve said that I’m sorry. I don’t know what more you want.”

“No. No, it’s—it’s not like that.” Cas continues to frown and lean away, but Dean stops him, tight grip to his shoulder. They both look at his hand and swallow. “It’s—we’re family, man. And this is the sort of shit you _tell_ family so we can help you!”

“Dean—”

“Don’t even try. You wouldn’t let me get out of this so you’re not getting out of it either.”

Cas stares at Dean again, eyes slit, before he finally relaxes his face. Closes him mouth. Nods.

“Alright. So, what can I do? Do they—do they hurt? Do they need to be patched up? Just tell me what to do, man.”

“They don’t hurt.” Cas pauses, frowns. “Not exactly, anyway. Not in the normal sense. There is some minor pain from their damaged state but nothing that can’t be eased with grooming. It’s more that… that…”

“That what?” Dean prompts.

“That I can still feel them.”

Dean swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing painfully. “ _What?_ You can… _feel them?_ ”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Shit.”

“I suppose the best comparison would be what humans call a phantom limb… but it’s more than that. More than a physical part of me. It would be as if…as if—”

“As if I had a piece of my fucking soul torn out of me.”

“Yes.” Cas’s jaw tightens. “Yes, I suppose that is an apt comparison.”

Dean slumps forward, his elbows on his knees. “Well, fuck.”

“You see now why I did not tell you. There is nothing you can do to help.”

“There’s always something I can do to help.”

“Dean. I appreciate your concern but you cannot—”

“Stop. Okay, so I can’t fix your grace… but maybe I can fix your wings? Maybe—”

“No, Dean.”

“Cas, man—”

“I said _no!_ ”

Dean hasn’t heard Cas like this since shortly after Purgatory. Since that day in the motel when Cas was reading John’s journal and confessed his fears of returning to Heaven, his fears of what he would do to himself. Dean’s stomach drops. Carefully, he lays his palm on Cas’s knee and squeezes. Once, twice, three times for reassurance. When he feels Cas relax somewhat he says, “Talk to me.”

Cas clenches his jaw, the muscle at the hinge twitching.

“Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Because…” Cas swallows and closes his eyes, head turned down in what Dean can only assume is shame. “Because I don’t want you to see them, Dean.”

“Why not?”

Cas laughs, wearily. “It’s it obvious, Dean?”

“No, actually. Not really.”

“Because they are ruined, Dean! Mangled and damaged and scarred!” Cas looks up, eyes wide, back stiff and shoulders set strong and firm. He’s going for fury but Dean sees it for what it truly is: fear, pain embarrassment. But Before he can say anything Cas adds, “Would you wish me to see _you_ that way, Dean?”

“Dude… you _have_ seen me that way!”

“It’s not the same thing, Dean.”

“Nah, man. Don’t even go there. Even with your mojo wiping the slate clean when you brought me back topside, I got more than enough battle scars for the both of us.”

“But that’s just it.” Cas shakes his head, near frantic now. “Those are _battle_ scars. Things of honor, hard won. These—” He gestures toward his back. “The mess that once was my wings? They’re a blemish. A sign of my mistakes and my failures.

Dean snorts. “That’s kinda what scars are, man.”

“This isn’t funny, Dean.”

“No. It’s not funny and I’m not joking. So, just listen to me okay? Can you do that?”

Cas exhales slowly. “Yes, Dean. I can do that.”

“All scars are blemishes and reminders of our mistakes and failures.”

“What?”

“Think about it, man. You don’t get scars because you did something right. You get ‘em because you fucked up somewhere along the line.”

Cas shakes his head again. “No, Dean. This is not the same. You earned your scars fighting for the greater good, for what is right. My wings are like this, _all of my siblings_ _’ wings are like this_ , because I let myself be fooled my Metatron. Because I let myself think I was more important than I am.”

“But your intentions were good.”

Cas scoffs. “Does that matter?”

“It might be the only thing that does.”

“Dean—”

“Look, man. We’ve all messed up, me more than most. And whether you’re fighting the good fight or not, the fact that you _have_ to fight? Usually a pretty good sign you did something wrong. I mean, you know me. I’m not one to turn down a fight when the situation warrants… but even I can’t deny that there are usually better ways to handle things…”

Cas raises a brow, a faint smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t look at me like that. Sam’s not the only one with brains…”

Cas smiles for for real at this, warm and a bit more at peace. “I thank you for trying, Dean. But I’m afraid no matter how you look at it, or try to justify it, my wings are too far gone. Too ruined to ever be anything more than a mangled scar of my past.”

“Well, that’s the thing about scars, man. You only get ‘em when you survive. And that’s…” Dean clears his throat and looks away, suddenly feeling extremely vulnerable. “…that’s not nothing.”

Cas smiles again, a little teasing glint in his eyes. “I thought you didn’t do ‘chick flick’ moments.”

“Yeah, well. You started it. Just don’t tell Sam and we’re all good… Now lemme see those wings.”

“I’m not so sure—”

“Come on man. Just whip ‘em out.” Cas’s eyes go wide and Dean chokes on his own saliva. “Yeah. If you could not tell Sam about that either.”

“Of course, Dean.”

Cas reaches for the buttons on his shirt and begins to pop them, slowly at first and then in quick succession when his fingers begin to shake. That alone is enough to set Dean on edge, seeing Cas like this, full powered angel, afraid; but then Cas shrugs of the shirt, his firm tan chest bare to Dean’s eyes and that’s it. Dean’s not proud of it, not at all, but it’s nearly impossible to focus on anything else, even Cas’s discomfort, when he’s half naked on Dean’s bed.

Dean swallows thickly, shifts to hide the erection that has once again, come to life. “Why don’t—why don’t you lay down? Might be easier to for me to get to ‘em, and more comfortable for you.”

Cas nods, completely unaware of the war raging on inside Dean’s body, and lays down on the bed; flat on his stomach, hands tucked under his head. “Are you sure you wish to see them, Dean? To help me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘course, man.”

“Alright, then.” Cas closes his eyes, exhales. The energy in the room shifts and sometime between one blink and the next, Cas’s wings appear.

Dean gasps, more reflex then anything, and Cas flinches. Makes to hide himself away.

“No,” Dean whispers and he doesn’t recognize his own voice. “Please don’t.”

There’s no sugarcoating it: Cas’s wings are damaged beyond repair. The bottom half of either side is torn away, leaving behind a mangled mess of slick, black feathers. They twist and turn in all directions, some broken and some wrapped together in painful looking directions. The only real structure left to them is the upper most part. Where they connect to his back and arch upward and outward. Dean is sure there’s an name for that part, probably, he thinks a little guiltily, the same one used for birds, but Dean’s in too much shock to care. It’s not shock at their state, not really, though it does make him cringe to wonder just how much Cas is downplaying the pain. There’s no way damage like this can’t hurt like a bitch. But what really has Dean’s heart pounding in his chest, has him holding his breath until he thinks his lungs might burst, is that even in this state—damaged and twisted and torn to shreds—they’re still the most amazing things Dean has ever seen.

“ _Fuck,_ man. They’re… _beautiful._ ”

Cas tenses. “There is no need to lie. I know the state they are in.”

“No. No, man. Not lying. _Shit._ ” Dean’s hand shakes as he reaches toward them, reverently brushes his fingers along the uppermost curve. Cas flinches and Dean pulls back. “Shit! Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No, Dean. It’s just that—” Cas frowns. “I’d forgotten how sensitive they are.”

“Sensitive how? Seriously, you gotta tell me if I’m hurting you.”

“It’s more of a… pleasurable feeling.”

Dean swallows, his cock perking up in interest. “Oh.”

“Are you alright, Dean? If this is making you uncomfortable we can stop.”

“No, uhh, no, man. I’m fine. Just…”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Umm… what do I need to do?”

“Straighten the crooked feathers. Remove the broken ones and any other debris that might be in them.”

“I can do that. Just relax okay? Let me take care of you.”

Cas nods and closes his eyes again, waits. Dean takes a few deep breaths to steel his nerves.

As soon as Dean touches Cas’s wings, Cas jumps again, but Dean shushes him. Soothes his raw nerves and damaged wings with gentle touches and soft murmurs of reassurance. He starts at the base, where the wings meet Cas’s back, and works his way upward and outward. Combs his fingers gently through the tangled feathers, carefully removes the broken ones, hisses along with Cas when they break free. By the time Dean reaches the tip of the left wing, Cas is completely relaxed, soft and pliant under Dean’s hands. He smooths down the last of the crooked feathers at the tip and leans back, stretching his sore back. Smiles proudly at his work.

“Halfway done. That wasn’t so bad, now, was it, man?”

“No, it was not,” Cas says, slightly breathless. “Please—please continue.”

Dean frowns and lays his palm flat on the small of Cas’s back, frown deepening when he feels how warm Cas is. “You okay, man?”

“Yes.”

Dean raises a brow at Cas’s short response but doesn’t push the issue. Instead he goes back to work, determined to help Cas in this small way that he can. He starts at the base again just as he did on the left side, but when he leans forward to work his way up the wing his back spasms.

“Oh, shit!” Dean hisses.

“Dean? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Cas. Just—just my back,” he laughs massaging the tense muscles. “Guess I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“There’s no need to continue if you’re in pain. You’ve done more than enough already and I…”

When Cas shifts and tries to get up, Dean stops him, presses his hand against Cas’s now flushing skin and holds him in place. “No, we’re finishing this, just… just let me move and…” Without thinking, Dean throws his leg over Cas and sits on the firm curve of his ass. “Uhh…” Dean coughs, shifting to keep his now prominent hard on from rubbing Cas’s back through his jeans. “Uhh, this okay?”

Cas nods, somewhat frantically, and knocks Dean off balance. He falls forward and only just manages to keep himself from sprawling flat on top of Cas. Dean pushes himself up quickly, heart pounding in his chest. He’s determined to ignore the way the hot expanse of Cas’s skin feels so close to his body. Just finish the job and make a break for the bathroom where he’ll furiously beat off. At this point he’s too turned on to care about the shame, and the only thing that could be worse than giving into his urges for Cas, is coming all over Cas’s back before this is all over. But per usual, things do not work out according to Dean’s plan, because when he finally lifts his hand from Cas’s back he finds it covered in something sticky and wet.

“Uhh… Uh, Cas, man? What.. What’s this?”

Cas opens his eyes for the first time since he laid down and looks at Dean over his shoulder. His eyes are heavy and dazed and fuck. Oh, _fuck_ his pupils are all blown out and his cheeks are ruddy and Dean can’t stop himself from rocking his hips. Just a tiny bit, forward and back, slow drag of his erection down the seam of Cas’s ass. Cas gasps and closes his eyes again, pushes up into the sensation.

“It’s my—my—my wing oil,” he manges to get out on a long, slow exhale.

“What?”

“Wing oil. For grooming my wings.”

“Oh,” Dean mumbles, rubbing the viscous fluid between his fingers, shivering at the feel and earthy scent of _Cas._ “Well, why didn’t you tell me? I could have been using it.”

“No, Dean. No, I—”

“These little bumps here?” Dean asks, and then squeezes without waiting for an answer.

Cas moans and calls out Dean’s name. Dean’s breath catches.

“Because of that, Dean,” Cas says, rolling his hips against the mattress. “Because those glands are even more sensitive than my wings.”

“But—” Dean clears his throat, tentatively matches Cas’s slow rolls. “But it’s good for your wings right?”

“Yes.”

“Makes them all shiny and healthy and shit?”

“Yes, but—”

“Well, then I’m gonna use it. Said I’d take care of you, man. Not about to do a half-assed job.” Once again, Dean doesn’t wait. Just digs his fingers into the fleshy gland, a little harder then before, and squeezes until his fingers are slick. Until Cas moans and whimpers and rocks his hips faster.

And at first, Dean is good. Or at least as good as he can be with an angel, with fucking _Cas,_ writhing beneath him. Dean works his fingers back into the wings, threads them through the feathers and rubs in the warm, heady oil. He pulls out a few more broken feathers, a few random pieces of debris. He works his way upward, fingers catching in a stubborn tangle of feathers; and when Dean pulls harder to make his way through the mess, Cas calls out and ruts against the mattress. Jolting at the unexpected reaction, Dean digs his fingers in again, grabs a handful of feathers and yanks.

“ _Dean,_ ” Cas moans, rocking against the mattress, desperately seeking friction. “Do that again. Will you—will you—” he swallow down a whimper. “Please do that again, Dean. _Please._ ”

Fucking hell. So much being good. So much for taking care of Cas’s wings and jerking off in the bathroom alone. He can’t deny Cas. Not when he looks like this. Smells like this. Sounds like this. “Yeah. Yeah. ‘Course I will, Angel.”

Immediately Dean grabs ahold of Cas’s wings, one hand on each side at the base, and twists in his fingers. Cas groans and Dean does it again. And again and again and again. He reads Cas’s body and his reactions, experiments with different holds in the feathers, varying pressure against the glands. He works Cas into a frenzy beneath him. Until Cas can do little more than say Dean’s name and chase his pleasure. Until they’re rocking together. Until Dean is fucking riding him, holding onto his wings like fucking reigns.

The heat coils in Dean’s stomach faster than he expects and he laughs to himself. What the fuck was he expecting? Here he is, fully dressed, humping an angel’s ass like a fucking teenager. Humping _Cas_ _’s_ ass. Sexy as hell, Angel of the fucking Lord, Castiel.

“Shit man. Sorry, I’m not gonna last—I’m— _fuck!_ Too many damn clothes but I’m not gonna fucking last.”

By the time Cas finishes saying, “Agreed,” they’re both bare ass naked. Skin on fucking glorious skin, Dean’s cock digging between Cas’s cheeks and catching on his hole. It’s fucking Heaven but it’s not enough. Dean needs more. More touch, more contact, more skin. Loosening his grip on the base of Cas’s wings, Dean slides his hands upward. Past shoulder blades and shoulders, to Cas’s face. Pulls the hands from under his cheeks and laces their fingers together above Cas’s head. Dean lays down, chest to back, flush, and Cas arches up against him.

“Oh, _fuck. Fuck,_ Cas,” Dean whimpers next to Cas’s ear, when his cock once again works it’s way between the firm cheeks. Catches on the fluttering hole.

“Not—ssss!—not this time. Too close.”

“Are you trying to kill me, man?”

“I’m trying to make you come, and if I come too that will only be a bonus.”

“Oh, you’re coming too.”

“And how will you—oh! _Oh, Dean!_ ” Cas calls out, when Dean shoves a hand under Cas and grabs his leaking cock.

“I’d never leave you hanging, like that, Angel. Now lift your hips a little, fuck into my hand.”

Cas shifts his hips off the bed, making more room for Dean’s hands. He thrusts back down, tentatively pushing his cock through the tight tunnel of Dean’s hand; then does it a few more times, quickly picking up speed before he asks, “Like this?”

“Just like that. There you go, that’s it.” Dean rolls his hips against Cas, meeting him with each movement; a sensual dance. The heat in his belly is coiled tight, ready to burst at any moment. He tightens his fist around Cas’s cock and it jumps in his hand, dribbles pre-come all over Dean’s fingers. “Come on now. Rub that ass against my cock. So good, Angel. _So fucking good._ _”_

Burying his face, between Cas’s shoulder blades, Dean ruts harder, pumps his hand faster. Brings them both to the very edge of orgasm. They gasp and grunt and whimper, slide against each other, a slick mess of sweat and pre-come easing the way. Cas’s cock thickens in Dean’s hand, and when the next blurt of pre-come runs down his already dripping fingers, Dean lets go of Cas’s other hand. He grabs a handful of feathers, twists his fingers in tight, and pulls. Hard. Cas comes immediately.

“ _Dean!_ ” he whimpers, spilling hot and heavy onto the mattress. Dean works him through it, hand slick with pre-come. He keeps going until Cas is over sensitive and squirming beneath him. And when Dean finally lets up, digs his nail into the slit at the dripping head, Cas shudders and chokes out a sob. The pressure in Dean’s belly pops and he lets go; coats the swell and the seam of Cas’s ass in his come.

It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before in his life. Like a shot of electricity or a bolt of fucking lighting. It’s runs through his body, from his core outward. Shoots out his fingers and his toes and his fucking pores. His head rings. His vision whites out and he stops breathing. He’s gonna pass out if he doesn’t breath soon, but it’s the best fucking orgasm of his entire fucking life.

“Fuck, fuck,” he mumbles when he’s finally able to breathe again, but just when he thinks it’s over, another wave shoots though him straight into Cas. The angel shakes and gasps and comes again even harder than the first time.

Dean is too exhausted and in too much shock to work Cas through it this time. Instead he holds him close, lets Cas ride out his second orgasm until they’re both breathing evenly again.

“Cas… _what the hell was that?_ _”_ Dean asks. His voice is gritty like sandpaper.

“My grace. That was my grace, Dean.”

“Well, no shit that was your grace. But it—it felt like it was coming from me. And your wings! Fuck!” Dean gasps. He tries to sit up but he’s still too tired to do more than flop down on the mattress at Cas’s side. “They’re—they look a little better. Fuller maybe? How—”

“It was coming from you, Dean.”

“What?”

“My grace. It was coming from you.”

“But how—” And Dean gasps, the phantom memory of the hand print scar burning on his shoulder. “That was—”

“Yes, Dean. To raise you from perdition, certain… measures were required.”

“Measures? You mean like putting a fucking piece of yourself inside of me?”

Cas turns his head and frowns. “Dean, I did not mean to—”

“Kinky.”

Cas furrows his brow, frown deepening.

“Stop making that face, man. It’ll get stuck that way.” Cas opens his mouth to protest and Dean laughs, effectively cutting him off. “Seriously though, how did the grace in me do that to you?”

“Perhaps your body somehow protected it from Metatron’s spell?”

“Is that possible?”

“I am honestly not sure. But I find that I don’t much care at this moment.”

Dean laughs again. “Yeah, sex’ll do that to you. Speaking of which… ugh. I don’t want to get up but we’re fucking disgusting!”

Cas hums and a cool tendril of energy runs through him. “There.”

“Dude. Did you just use your grace to clean up our come?”

Cas grins, all teeth and smile lines around his eyes. “I am an Angel of the Lord, Dean.”

“A fucking kinky angel of the lord.”

“You are not wrong.”

“Ugh,” Dean groans when his cock jumps up in interest. “I am too tired for this shit right now. Didn’t get my four hours yet.”

“Of course,” Cas murmurs, pulling Dean in close and kissing the top of his head. “Sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

Dean hums. He knows they’ll have to talk about this, talk about them. Talk about fucking… _feelings._ But that can all wait for later. Right now all that matters in how good Dean feels, and how good Cas feels next to him, all soft and warm. Dean sighs, savoring the moment, maybe, kinda, sorta snuggling in closer.

And the next time Cas needs help with his wings, he doesn’t hesitate to ask.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> If you're interested in any of my writing, original or fanfic, you can find out more here: [LivMasters.com/Me](http://livmasters.com/me/)
> 
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> 
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